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going?”
    “New York, I think.”
    “Will you be in an art school?”
    “Yes, I think so. I’ve learned a lot of techniques over in Europe, but now I need to get the feel of America again. I guess I can find some interesting things to paint in a city as big as New York.”
    “Well, you’ve got kinfolk there. Several of them. Mark Winslow is getting on in years like I am, but he’s still a mighty important man. If you need any help, you could go to him.”
    “I don’t think I’ll trouble him. I want to make it on my own. You were good, Pa, to help me through this trip. I know I couldn’t have made it if it hadn’t been for your help, and I appreciate it.”
    “There’s plenty more where that came from. Whatever I can do. Just let me know.”
    Phil hesitated. “Thanks, Pa. I’ll remember that. Maybe I will let you help me financially. It doesn’t make any sense to go to New York and work all day just to stay alive when I’m going to learn how to paint.”
    Zach Winslow was a thoughtful man. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll send you some money every month. If it’s not enough, you write and let me know. You turn your head to this painting business. Learn how to do it and serve God. That’s what I want to see. Never think I’m disappointed in you. Your mother and I are very proud of you. When I look at those paintings on the wall, I’m just glad God gave us a son with such a gift. I know it’s going to work out for you, son.”
    Once again Phil Winslow thought how blessed he was to have such caring and supportive parents. He thanked them quietly, then went over and hugged his mother, kissed her, then slapped his father on the shoulder. “I’ll be leaving soon, but I won’t forget it.”
    That night he went to bed knowing he’d only have a few days left to enjoy his home, and he offered up a prayer to God. “I don’t know how I can make a painting to glorify you, Lord, but I’m sure going to try. Keep me from wrongdoing in that big city and let me serve you with all my heart. In the name of Jesus I ask it.” He closed his eyes and for a long time laythere thinking about what the future held for him. He had no plans except to pursue his goal of serving God with all of his heart through his greatest passion—painting.

CHAPTER THREE
    Big City Encounters
    The city of New York hit Phil Winslow with a tremendous impact. He was not unacquainted with large cities, having wandered the streets of London and Paris, but something about the bustling, raucous streets and the raw culture that had exploded on the island of Manhattan struck him with the force of a sledgehammer.
    It all began when he alit from his sleeping car at the Grand Central Terminal and was immediately engulfed in a confused mass of people streaming everywhere. His ear was filled with a polyglot babble, and as he stood there for a moment, he exclaimed to himself in amazement, “Why, I never heard such a thing!” He had known, of course, that New York had been flooded by the Irish and Germans, but he also heard languages he was pretty sure came from other countries—he guessed Italy, Poland, and Russia.
    The tracks stretched out endlessly, with trains lined up one after the other. Some of them were sending boiling clouds of steam and smoke high into the air, and others were releasing hissing jets of steam from underneath that threatened to engulf the other trains. Shaking his head, Phil wandered around in the mass of people that were arriving and disembarking. Finally, he made his way to a broad street outside the Grand Central Terminal. He wanted to find a room close to the art institute, so he walked across the street to a cabby who was leaning against his horse-drawn vehicle carefully peelingan apple and asked, “Say, buddy, can you tell me where the American Institute of Art is?”
    “Sure. It’s not far off Fifth Avenue, down near Madison Square. Need a lift?”
    “How much would it cost?”
    The driver was a lanky man with narrow